Crashing
by enigste1
Summary: What has Don Eppes gotten himself into? Epilogue revised.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not have any affiliation with the television show Numb3rs. I do not profit from this work.

A/N: This piece began easily, but once the prologue was down, my muse left. Packed its bag and skipped town, as it were. I cannot say with any certainty that this will be completed soon, although I will finish it. I have no idea when. Perhaps one of my enigmatic title faeries will message me with some suggestions?

Chapter 1:

"So what happened?"

Special Agent Don Eppes sat unmoving, his expression stony. Nothing showed in his dark eyes. His hands rested lightly on the table in front of him, fingers laced together as he gazed dispassionately at the two men seated opposite. Nothing showed of his true feelings. There were no tremors in his long, elegant fingers, no restlessness in his movements. There was only numbing cold, spread throughout his body, inuring him to the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. If he could have moved, he would be yelling at these men. Throwing the chair he was sitting on. Overturning the table. Instead, he sat in silence and waited.

The tension in the room was palpable, like humidity. It hung in the air threatening to suffocate the unwary. Neither faction spoke, each waiting for a response from the other. If it wasn't broken, the silence could last forever. Don allowed his thoughts to turn inward, to the events of that morning. Going over the situation detail by detail, forcing himself to relive the events that brought him to this point.

The whole thing had been cursed from the very beginning, in his line of thinking. Not enough sleep the night before due to too many questions and not enough answers. Rising early, he found his morning shower had to be skipped because his building's heating system had failed. He made a mental note to see the building manager about the quality of maintenance. It had been going sharply downhill of late. He'd had to go to his brother's house to shower, shave and dress in record time so as not to be late. Once he'd pulled into his parking spot at work, however, a fellow agent wanting advice on a cold case had delayed him even further. Finally getting into the office, Don had been inundated by reports, phone calls and follow-ups until they received a tip on a kidnapping case. The result was a flurry of planning. A quick consultation with the tactical team commander, and the plan was set. It looked like things were starting to come together…

And now this. After several hours of careful planning, and a precisely executed raid, four good agents were dead, and two more were in hospital. Don had yet to discover the severity of their injuries.

The numbness had now spread throughout his entire body. He no longer felt cold, just… surreal. In a far corner of his mind, he registered the idea that his current physiological state might not be a good thing. He knew that he, too, had been injured in some fashion, but the numbing sensation kept it at bay. For now.

First, he needed to get to the bottom of this.

_What happened?_ A very good question, in his opinion. Don Eppes would like nothing better than to have the answer, and right now it lay in the hands of the two professional-looking men seated across the table. Don had never had occasion to meet with them before, and he would have given just about anything to not have to be here with them now.

The dark-haired one on the left leaned in and rested his elbows on the table.

"Agent Eppes," he began, "Would you be so kind as to explain how you managed to fire upon your own people?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So this, then, is the next piece. Interestingly enough, this chapter was not intended for this fanfic. It was actually the beginning of another fic I was working on months ago. I was perusing my files, looking for something totally unrelated, when I rediscovered this and began reading. I realized this would fit in the story quite amicably. Please do not hesitate to let me know if you disagree.

Chapter 2:

_Two Weeks Earlier…_

Professor Charles Eppes stood motionless just inside the entry of his house, the open door forgotten. Barely breathing, he waited for the response that was not long in coming.

"Fine!" his older brother yelled. Don Eppes turned from his position – toe to toe with their father – and strode angrily toward the front door.

"Don, you walk out of here now and that's it!" Alan threatened. The warning didn't even cause hesitation in the other man's pace. "I mean it!"

The FBI agent called back over his shoulder. "I got it the first time! I may not be a _genius_, but I'm not stupid!" The front door slammed behind him.

In the ensuing silence, Charlie let out the breath he was holding. Asking about what just happened wouldn't be a good idea, he knew, so instead he quietly set his knapsack and laptop down on the hall table.

Alan cast a glance in his direction, but didn't speak. After a few seconds, he growled, "Damn!" and headed for the kitchen.

Feeling like someone who had barely escaped a tidal wave, Charlie pulled out a chair from the dining room table and lowered himself into it. Fully five minutes passed before the elder Eppes walked out of the kitchen and pulled out another chair.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Charlie didn't speak, merely shaking his head, his eyes never leaving his father's face. He waited. Alan rubbed the back of his neck wearily. He looked very old.

"I suppose you heard everything?" he asked.

Shaking his head again, Charlie replied, "Only the last part."

Alan glanced up briefly before returning his gaze to the tabletop. "I imagine you want to know what happened." It wasn't a question. "Your brother and I had… a difference of opinion," he finished lamely.

"No kidding,"

Lifting his head, Alan regarded his youngest son with a withering look. "I don't need that from you right now."

Charlie held both hands up in a defensive gesture. "Whatever's going on, I'm not the one to blame."

Alan sighed. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry." He rubbed his neck again. Suddenly, he burst out "What the hell is _wrong_ with him!"

The young mathematician could also tell when his father was kicking himself for something. The best option in that situation was to let him get to the point where he'd almost run out of epithets before stepping in to stop the flow.

"Of all the stupid, pig-headed, moronic…" Alan sputtered, searching for words.

"What has Don done?" Charlie asked quietly.

"What's he done?" Alan replied, fighting to control an urge to shout. "What's he _done_? Nothing! _Yet_." He pushed back from the table roughly and began pacing. "That's the problem. He thought he'd come over and drop a bombshell in my lap to…" he waved one hand in the air, once again searching for an accurate description. "…I don't know – gauge my reaction, I guess. 'Let's see if this one will give the old man a heart attack!'

Charlie stood. He was halfway to the staircase before his father asked, "Where are you going?"

"My room," Charlie replied, scooping up his computer as he passed. "Let me know when you've calmed down." He took the stairs two at a time, leaving his dumbfounded parent standing alone in the dining room.

Almost an hour went by while Charlie worked on his lesson plans. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he was motionless except for his fingers flying over the keys.

The knock on his bedroom door was soft and hesitant, but not unexpected. He had heard his father's heavy tread on the stairs long before the tapping began. "Charlie, can I come in?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied, not lifting his eyes from the screen. "I'll be done in a minute."

Alan entered the room and stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hands in his pockets like a recalcitrant child. "I apologise," he began, "I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Charlie finished up, saving his work before closing the laptop and setting it aside. Looking up at his father, he invited, "Pull up a seat."

Alan smiled slightly and moved to sit on the bed beside him. He considered for a moment before continuing. "It's just that… sometimes your brother can really get under my skin, you know?" He turned in time to see Charlie's short nod. "Well… so can you, for that matter. But with Don, it's like he's deliberately baiting me."

"Sometimes I wonder if he isn't," Charlie agreed. He uncrossed his legs and turned to face his father. "So… are you going to tell me what happened?"

Alan shook his head – not in negation, but in frustration. "Don came over today to tell me he's considering asking for a transfer."

The simple statement had the profound effect of causing Charlie's heart to leap into his throat. He swallowed hard before asking "Transfer? To where?"

The older man replied "Possibly back into fugitive recovery. He was kind of vague about it."

Charlie thought hard about the implication. During the time his brother spent in fugitive recovery, they didn't hear from him for days or weeks at a time. Once, it was almost six months between phone calls. Something must have happened. "I thought he was happy where he was?"

"So did I!" Alan threw his hands up in exasperation. He stood and walked over to Charlie's dresser, picking up a book and examining it. Shrugging, he added, "I guess we were both wrong."

If Don did want a transfer out of his current position, there must have been some underlying cause. He'd said more than once that he loved his job. "He didn't say anything else?"

Alan gave him a long look before replying. "No." Charlie could tell there was more to it than that, but decided to let it drop. "What did you tell him?" he asked instead.

"I told him not to be an idiot," Alan replied. He dropped the book back onto the dresser. "What else _could_ I say? It's his life."

Charlie shrugged, his mind racing through possible scenarios. Nothing like having a high IQ and an overactive imagination to make a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe Don didn't really mean it, or maybe he was just contemplating. Time would tell. "What did you mean by 'that's it'?" he asked.

"Nothing," Alan replied, too quickly. "Supper will be ready in half an hour." He left the room, his pace faster than necessary.

Charlie frowned. He could have headed downstairs to grab the phone but decided against it. Pulling out his cell, he dialled Don's number.

"You have reached the voicemail of Don Eppes…" Charlie was surprised, barely managing to collect his thoughts in time for the beep. "Don, it's me," he said. "Call me on my cell." Snapping the phone shut, he set it down on the bedspread beside him and laid back.Charlie stared at the ceiling with his hands tucked behind his head and thought about what his father had said. It wasn't like Don to say something out of the blue like that. There must be something else going on that he just hadn't talked about. Pulling his left hand out from behind his head, Charlie picked up the cell phone again and dialled another number.

"Megan? It's Charlie. Is Don there? Oh… well, I…" He paused, listening. "Could you ask him to phone me on my cell when he gets in? Thanks." Once again he folded the phone and laid it on the bed. He was deep in thought when his father's voice drifted up the stairs, calling him to supper. He pushed himself off the bed and headed down, hoping his brother would call before he did anything foolish.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: In an attempt to continue with this work, I captured my muse when it returned to pick up a forgotten 'Hawaii' souvenir snow globe. I thought since virtual captivity worked so well in the past on the characters of Numb3rs, it might work on a muse. Agree? Disagree?

Chapter 3:

_A week earlier:_

"Charlie!" Megan exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Standing at the corner of Agent Reeves' cubicle, the young mathematician had a look on his face of combined worry and anger. "Megan," he said, his voice betraying his frustration. "Where is Don?"

Megan averted her gaze. Shuffling some papers on her desk, she said evasively, "He's not here right now, Charlie."

"I can see that!" Charlie grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over. Sitting, he said in a low tone, "Megan, what's going on?"

Megan still didn't meet his eyes. "Nothing's going on, Charlie. You're imagining things."

Charlie sat back in the chair, his astonishment plain. "I never would have believed it of you."

This time Megan did look up. "What?"

"That you would lie to me," Charlie said. "Is it that bad?"

"You should have been a profiler," she muttered. Standing abruptly, she said, "Come on."

Charlie stood as well. "Where are we going?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he followed after her as she made her way through the labyrinth of cubicles to the interrogation room. Holding open the door, she motioned him to precede her. Upon entering, Charlie realized they weren't in the interrogation room itself, but the soundproof observation room adjacent.

Megan entered the small room at his heels and closed the door. Charlie turned to her. "Megan, what…?" he began. She cut him off.

"Charlie," she began and then stopped. Motioning to a chair, she sat down herself and waited until he was comfortable before continuing. "Charlie, there isn't an easy way to tell you this, but…"

He waited, anxiety growing, while she gathered her thoughts. "Don's not here," she said finally.

"_Megan!"_

"No, no wait," she said in a placating manner. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm not trying to tease you. I mean – Don isn't here." She looked at him sympathetically. "He's been gone for over a week."

Charlie felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. He whispered, "Over a week?" At her nod, he asked, "Where is he?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I haven't talked to him myself. Maybe David or Colby know."

Standing, Charlie said, "Let's go ask them. Now."

"Sit down, Charlie," she ordered. When he complied, she said, "I think there was something going on before Don left. I don't know what, but I got the impression that it wasn't good." Megan leaned forward and placed her hand over Charlie's. "You stay here, and I'll go see if I can find one of them." She left him to his thoughts, which weren't pleasant. Don had been missing for a long time. Charlie knew without more information to go on, any conclusions he drew from that would be – at best – incorrect. He decided to withhold judgement until he had a chance to listen to Agents Sinclair and Granger.

Five minutes passed and, just as he was becoming restless, Megan re-entered with David Sinclair. Nodding to her fellow agent, Megan addressed Charlie. "I have work to do. David will tell you what he can." Charlie thanked her as she departed.

David sat in Megan's chair. "What's up, Charlie?" he asked.

Charlie leaned closer. "David," he began, "You've worked with Don for a long time…"

The handsome agent nodded. "Almost two years," he agreed.

"You two are pretty good friends, right?" Again, David nodded. "Do you know where he is?" Charlie searched his face. David's expression became guarded. "David?"

"Charlie…" David shook his head and stood abruptly. Walking away from the young man, he thrust his hands into his pockets and faced the door. After a moment's silence, he turned.

Starting to fear for his absent brother, Charlie whispered, "David?"

"Charlie, I don't know how to tell you this," David replied quietly. "But… Don's been suspended pending an investigation into evidence tampering."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: We'll see how far this goes. My muse is whining and frankly I'm becoming rather tired of the noise. If my tolerance lapses, there may be a brief hiatus between chapters.

Chapter 4:

_Later that same day_:

"Who is it?"

Charlie pounded on the door again. "Don!" he called. "It's me. Open up!"

His older brother's voice sounded from just inside the door, but it didn't open. "Charlie? What are you doing here?"

"What do you…" Charlie ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Don, just… Just open the door. Please?" There was a long moment of silence before he heard the sound of the deadbolt being turned. The door opened slowly and Charlie stepped through. He barely stifled a gasp of surprise at his brother's appearance. The word 'dishevelled' didn't even come close. Don looked like he'd been through hell.

"That bad, huh?" Don chuckled mirthlessly. "Well… come on in." He turned and padded down the short hallway to the living room and kitchen. Charlie closed the door before following. He found Don at the refrigerator. "You want something to drink?" he asked.

"No thanks," Charlie replied quietly. He glanced around at the almost sterile décor of the apartment. Don stood, kicked the fridge door shut and asked, "So… who sent you?" He took a sip from the open beer bottle in his hand. Cocking his head to one side, he looked at Charlie expectantly.

"No one." At Don's expression of disbelief, he amended, "Well… Dad's worried about you, naturally. Megan didn't know what had happened to you… You never call…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, well," Don shrugged. "There've been some things… It's complicated," he finished lamely.

Charlie snorted. "I think I'm more than capable of handling a complicated thought, Don. Why couldn't you have at least phoned?" He watched as his brother brushed past and headed for the couch. Dropping heavily onto the dark leather, Don put his feet up on the coffee table and took another pull of his beer. Charlie walked in and sat in the armchair. "What is it, Don? What happened?" When no answer seemed forthcoming, he continued, "David told me about… that you…" he trailed off, unable to speak the words.

Don just stared at the blank television screen opposite, sipping his drink. They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Charlie ventured "Don? You know you can talk to me, right?"

Picking at the label on the bottle, Don nodded once. "Not about this, buddy. Sorry." He drank the remnants of his beer and then stood. "How's Dad?" he asked, heading back to the kitchen. Charlie turned in his chair to face him. He watched as Don put the empty bottle away in the broom closet, then reached into the fridge for another. Twisting the cap off, he threw it in the garbage before ambling back in and resuming his seat. He glanced at Charlie as he took a sip.

Disbelief was rapidly being replaced by anger. Charlie leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Don," he began in a low voice. When his brother looked at him, he continued. "I have no idea what's going on. Not only are you ignoring people – people who care about you – but now I hear you're being investigated for something I…" he shook his head. "…I just don't believe you'd be capable of doing." He paused. "What's happening, Don?"

Don looked down at the bottle in his hands. After a few seconds, he said, "I can't tell you that."

"That's fine, then," Charlie replied. Don looked up in surprise. Leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, Charlie continued, "I'm a mathematician. Mathematicians love solving puzzles. If you won't tell me, I'll figure it out for myself."

Don went back to his drink. "Not this time."

Charlie stood and headed for the door. "Yes, Don," he said firmly. "This time, too." He was reaching for the doorknob when Don suddenly called out "Wait!" He turned to see Don quickly set the bottle on the coffee table before rising and walking toward him.

"Charlie," he said, coming to a halt a few steps away. Charlie looked into his brother's eyes and was startled to see something akin to fear in their darkness. It was something he rarely saw in Don, and that alone made him pause long enough to listen to what he had to say. "Don't, Charlie. Don't try to figure this one out. Don't try to help me. Please."

Charlie stepped toward him. "Then tell me what's going on. I won't interfere, I promise."

Don hung his head. "I wish I could." He turned away.

"Don…" Charlie began, but Don cut him off. "No, Charlie. Don't ask me to. I can't." His brother headed back into the living room. Charlie took a few more steps as if to follow, then suddenly spun on his heel and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Don sat down on the couch. He stared blindly at the beer bottle for a few seconds before suddenly picking it up and hurling it across the room. It hit the cd cabinet and shattered, spraying foamy liquid all over the wood and surrounding walls. Sighing, he leaned back into the cushions and whispered, "I can't do this."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

_Four days earlier:_

Don Eppes stepped out of the Assistant Director's office and looked around. He took note of the quickly averted eyes and the outright stares of his fellow agents. Word had gotten around that Special Agent Don Eppes was being investigated and today's meeting with A. D. Merrick was the topic of choice around the water cooler. Don returned the stares dispassionately.

The Assistant Director stepped out of his office right behind him, and Don turned. Merrick offered him his hand, which Don shook firmly. "This won't be easy to live down, Agent Eppes," he said. "Good luck." With that, Merrick brushed past and headed out of the FBI office. Straightening his jacket, Don took a deep breath and made for his desk.

Megan intercepted him on the way. "What happened?" she asked. "What did Merrick say?"

Don glanced at her, but didn't change his pace. "He said the investigation was closed."

"What did they find out?" she pressed.

Reaching his cubicle, Don pulled out his chair and sat down. He logged into his computer before replying. "They didn't find anything." Grabbing a nearby file, he opened it and began to read. He was aware Megan was waiting for more but remained silent.

After a few seconds, Megan pulled up another chair and sat beside him. In a low voice she asked, "What exactly is going on here?"

Don glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "I'm working," he replied as he began reading the next page in the folder.

"I'm not an idiot, Agent Eppes," Megan whispered harshly. "I can tell there's more going on here than a bogus internal investigation. And if you've ever done anything to compromise your integrity," she added, gesturing at his computer, "I'll eat _that_ – plugs and all!"

Don allowed himself a small smile. Megan's flair for the dramatic was irresistible. Sobering immediately, he said, "Leave it be, Reeves."

She stared at him silently for a second and then seemed to come to a decision. "In case you've forgotten," she said as she stood, "David and Colby and I are all on your side, Don."

He lifted his eyes from the papers in front of him and met her gaze directly. "I'm counting on it."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"I'm telling you, David. He's up to something," Megan said as she and Agent Sinclair made their way to the parking lot after work. "He clammed right up about the investigation, but you should have seen the look he gave me – like he was trying to tell me something." She was brought up short by David's hand on her arm. "What?"

"Look," David gestured. On the far side of the lot, Don was having a conversation with two other FBI agents. "Isn't that Travers from Major Crimes?"

Megan looked over. Don seemed to be listening intently to what one of the men was saying. He began shaking his head. He turned as if to walk away, but the man grabbed his arm.

David said, "Come on." Both he and Megan moved to stand behind an FBI-issue SUV and they watched events unfold through the darkened windows. Don became agitated, throwing off the other man's arm and rounding on him. Heated words were exchanged and then the second man, who had previously had his back to them, turned and addressed Travers. Megan let out a gasp of surprise. "That's McKesson!" she exclaimed. "What the hell is going on?"

"Who's McKesson?" David asked. The argument seemed to be over. Both of the new agents were now listening to Don speak.

Megan turned to him. "Don't you remember? There was talk in the office about six months ago about an agent falsifying reports in Major Crimes?" David nodded. Pointing across the parking lot, Megan added, "It was McKesson!"

"Did they prove it, though?" Sinclair asked. Megan shook her head as she watched through the tinted glass. "No. The investigation was closed due to lack of evidence. Don said…" she trailed off and slowly turned her head to look at him. "_Don_ did the investigation! Lack of evidence – and then Don's in trouble for evidence tampering?" She looked back through the glass. "What is going _on_ here?"

"I'll tell you one thing I _do_ know Megan," David replied. "There's no way Don would get mixed up in something like that."

Megan watched as Don got into a sedan with the other two men. "David," she said sorrowfully. "Don _is_ mixed up in something like that."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Professor Larry Fleinhardt tapped hesitantly on the doorframe to Charlie's office. "Charles?" He looked at his friend in concern. "Amita says you didn't teach your class today?" Charlie was slumped in a chair, books and papers strewn around him, staring at the floor. "Is there something wrong?" Charlie barely glanced at him before returning his gaze to the tiles. Larry moved toward the desk and sat on its edge. Lowering his head, he tried to catch Charlie's eye. "Charles? What's the matter? I don't think I've ever seen you so depressed."

Charlie finally spoke, although his voice was so quiet as to be barely audible. "He told me not to help him."

"Who did, Charles?" When Charlie remained silent, Larry asked, "Don?"

Nodding, Charlie replied, "We didn't hear from him for a week, Larry. Dad said he was thinking of going back into fugitive recovery, and then when we didn't hear from him…" his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard before continuing. "And then I find out he's under investigation…"

Larry interrupted. "_Don?_ Your brother Don?" When Charlie nodded, he asked "Investigation for what?"

"Tampering with evidence."

Larry moved to another chair and sat down heavily. "I never would have believed it of him."

Charlie exploded. "How can you think that, Larry? Don would never, _never_ do something like that, and you know it!"

Larry paused thoughtfully. "Well," he mused. "It _would_ be akin to the planets on our solar system suddenly developing clockwise orbits." He turned to Charlie. "But why would an investigation be initiated against him if there wasn't rational data to support it?"

"I don't know," Charlie fell back into his chair, turning his head away. "I offered to help him get through it. I offered to look into it."

Larry frowned. "What did he say?"

Charlie shook his head. "It's not what he said, Larry. It's…" he sat up suddenly and looked at his friend. "You should have seen him, Larry. His eyes… he was…" He got up and began pacing. "He looked… I don't know…"

Larry watched his friend circling the room in agitation. After a moment, he ventured, "Frightened?"

Charlie stopped his restless movement. Turning to Larry, he said, "No… more like… _petrified_."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I may change this chapter later. I haven't decided. I thought I would put this up and see what people thought. I might wind up removing it altogether. We'll see. Opinions, please.

Chapter 6:

"You're _what?"_

Charlie looked up sharply from the papers he was grading. As much as he enjoyed seeing more of his brother in the past few days, the tension between Don and his father was once again building to intolerable levels. Sighing, he slowly put down his pen and listened to the words that drifted from the kitchen.

"What's the big deal?" Don asked. Charlie could picture his brother standing, arms bent and palms up, shrugging at his father's outburst. "I told you about this weeks ago," he continued. "You didn't like the idea of Recovery, and you're against this." There was a heavy pause. "What do you want from me?"

Alan Eppes burst through the swinging door into the dining room. "What's wrong with where you were?" he asked as he strode angrily into the living room, his older son at his heels. "I thought you were happy there." He cast a sideways glance at Charlie before dropping into an armchair. "_We_ thought you were happy there," he amended.

Don looked at Charlie. " 'We'?" he asked. Before Charlie could reply, Alan cut in. "Yes. Your brother and I were under the impression that you had finally settled down into a stable position." Don's expression changed. Where before he had looked almost wounded, now there was nothing. He regarded Charlie stonily. "You think you know what I should be doing with my life?" he asked in a low tone. Charlie shook his head quickly. Don turned to their father. "Do _you?"_ he repeated. Alan stared at him mutely, his anger dissipating in the wake of his eldest son's icy glare. Don suddenly turned and walked to the front door, snatching his jacket from its hook as he passed. Charlie spoke up. "Where are you going?"

Don paused with one hand on the knob. Glancing at his father he replied, "For a walk." He gave Charlie a meaningful look before opening the door. Charlie jumped up from the couch. "Alright if I go with you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

He looked at Alan, but the eldest Eppes had picked up a newspaper and was noisily turning pages. Grabbing his own jacket off of the peg, Charlie followed his brother out the door. Once the door was firmly closed between them and their father, Charlie asked, "What was that all about?"

"Ah," Don growled, starting off at a brisk pace. "Nothing I do is good enough."

Charlie jogged to keep up. "You're talking to me here," he said. "What was all that _really_ about?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Alan watched as his sons made their way down the street, Charlie half trotting to keep up with Don's longer, angrier stride. He hoped Don would have the presence of mind to keep this latest brainchild of his to himself. He knew, once Charlie got wind of it, he'd jump right in with both feet.

As Don glanced back over his shoulder, Alan lifted his chin in acknowledgement. Don saw and quickly averted his eyes, choosing instead to focus on his brother's face as he shortened his stride. He knew. He knew and – more importantly – he understood. Charlie had to be kept out of this. For his own protection.

Turning from the window, Alan walked back to his chair and sat down. He picked up the discarded newspaper and began to read.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"You're overreacting." Colby dropped a handful of files onto his desk and shook his head. Megan and David exchanged looks. "There's probably a very good reason for it."

"Granger," Megan said. "What good reason would Don have for hooking up with the likes of McKesson and Travers? They're both dirty as hell…"

"That was never proven," Colby interrupted loudly. David put in, "Keep your voice down!" The three agents unconsciously stepped closer together. Lowering his tone, Colby repeated, "That was never proven. Insubstantial evidence."

"Yeah, right," Megan shot back sarcastically. "And Don was the investigator, and he's also the one that was suspended for evidence tampering."

"Suspicion of," David corrected.

Agent Reeves waved her hand at him. "Whatever. The point is: it all fits together."

Colby shook his head again. "How, Megan?"

"I don't know – yet." Megan folded her arms. "But I'm going to do my damnedest to find out."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Wandering through the park at night had a relaxing effect on Special Agent Eppes. He hadn't responded to his brother's question, although he had given it a lot of thought while they walked. Seeing his father standing at the window, and noting the worried expression, Don considered any number of responses, discarding one after the other. He still hadn't decided on a satisfactory answer by the time they reached the wooden bench by the duck pond. "Let's sit here for a while," he suggested. They each took a spot at opposite ends and stretched out, leaning their heads back to look at the stars. After several minutes of contemplative silence, Charlie spoke softly.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's really going on?"

Don smiled slightly. Charlie had as good as told him he knew there was something he wasn't being told. Remembering his father's expression wiped the smile away as effectively as if he'd been doused with cold water, and he remained silent.

Charlie turned his head to watch his brother's profile in the moonlight. They were sufficiently deep enough into the park for it to be the primary source of illumination. He noted the disappearance of the smile but chose not to remark on it, instead studying the angle of his cheekbones, the almost-perfectly straight nose and the dark, glittering eyes. _He looks so… sad_ he thought. He wondered if his earlier perception of fear was correct. Don was never afraid. At least not to the degree Charlie thought he had detected. If anything, Don became the epitome of cold professionalism under duress. He turned his gaze back to the night sky as he pursued this train of thought. Don only seemed frightened when Charlie stated his intention to find out what had happened. _So he's worried about me._ That was a sobering thought. Even after proving himself time and again, and Don's assurances that he considered Charlie an equal, Don still sought to protect him from harm.

Don could sense the growing tension in his brother's small frame. He realized at that point that Charlie had come to a conclusion. _And that's the end of him_, he thought wryly, remembering the old joke. Not a laughing matter, surely. He felt – rather than saw – Charlie open his mouth to speak.

"It's not that," he said, forestalling Charlie's comment. His brother's jaw snapped shut as he continued. "I said I wouldn't treat you like a kid anymore, and I meant it. It's not that." He paused. "Despite your brains and your clearance, Charlie, there are some things you can't – or shouldn't – stick your highly intelligent IQ into."

Charlie was quiet for several seconds. Finally he whispered, "What are you scared of?"

"In general?" Don asked, knowing that wasn't what he meant. When Charlie didn't respond, he chuckled softly but without humor. "I'm scared of…" He trailed off, unsure of how to put it into words without offending Charlie. He sighed instead. "What do _you_ think is going on, Charlie?" he asked.

"Whatever it is," came the soft reply. "It's not what it seems to be."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Keep Chapter 6? All right. I'll see if I can carry on from that point.

Chapter 7:

Don Eppes sat on the back porch of his brother's Craftsman home, savoring the heady scent of gardenias and roses, both of which grew in the flowerbeds nearby. He was grateful for the darkness and comparative silence of the night, and for the solitude he now enjoyed. He and Charlie had returned a few hours ago from their sojourn through the park, and the young professor had long since gone to bed. Don doubted that he was sleeping, knowing that Charlie was just trying to give him some space. He had struggled against the impulse to spill the whole situation to his brother more than once that night…

"Thank you."

Don jumped and then turned as Alan opened the screen door and stepped outside. He had spoken while standing in the kitchen with the inside door open. The absence of advance warning from the screen door hinges had startled him. "For what?" he asked.

Alan sat in the Adirondack chair beside Don and gazed at him silently.

"Oh," Don said, realization dawning. "You're talking about Charlie."

Nodding, his father replied, "I was worried there for a little while." He leaned forward. "I shouldn't have been, I know, but…"

"Yeah." Don laid his head back and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he continued. "I almost told him." He heard his father's sharp intake of breath and hastened to add, "I didn't do it, though."

Alan hesitated. "Why not?"

Don lifted his shoulders in a weak shrug, not bothering to open his eyes. _God I'm tired,_ he thought. To Alan he said, "I thought we agreed not to."

"Yes," Alan replied. "We did. I'm glad you decided to stay with it."

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

Alan chose his words carefully. "No. I _did_ think, however, that you might have let something slip – something he might've picked up on." Don chuckled softly and Alan asked "What is it?"

"He _has_ picked up on something," Don answered. "He just doesn't know what it is."

"Sometimes that kid is a little too quick for his own good," grumbled Alan.

Don opened his eyes and looked at his father. "He's no kid, Dad."

Alan flapped his hand at Don. "I know that. It's a figure of speech."

"Maybe you shouldn't use it anymore," Don said. "It bothers him, you know."

"Yeah, I know." He paused thoughtfully. "Sometimes I miss it."

"What?"

"You two – as little kids," came the reply. "It was easier then, I think."

Don closed his eyes a second time and laid back. "I think so too." Silence descended between them for several long minutes before he spoke again. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Dad," he murmured.

Alan felt his heart swell with pity for his older son. He wished he could ease some of the burden Don was fated to carry. Purposefully infusing his voice with conviction, Alan said, "You'll keep it up for as long as necessary, Donny. You can do this." At Don's exhausted sigh, he continued, "It's tough, I know, but it's going to be over soon. Isn't it?"

Don sat up and rubbed harshly at his eyes. "Yeah," he answered. "The day after tomorrow."

"Well then," Alan sat up straight in his chair. "You see? Everything will go back to normal after that. It's not as bad as it seems."

"Except that I'll be spending the next few weeks trying to fix the mess I've worked myself into."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Charlie crept softly away from the kitchen door and headed for his room, his mind whirling with the conversation between his father and brother. Once there, he shut the door and stretched out on his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head. He gazed blindly at the ceiling as he tried to sort out what he'd heard.

_Don's up to something,_ he thought. _Something he hasn't told many people about. _He reviewed Don's comments. _He's… working on something. A case?_ The more he considered this, the more Charlie became convinced it was true. _That's it then. He's on a case. So that means none of the stuff about tampering was truth either._ He tensed as he heard talking downstairs but due to his bedroom door being shut was unable to make out what they were saying. After a few moments the front door opened and then closed. Charlie listened as Don started up his truck and drove away. Almost five minutes passed before he heard Alan make his way up to his own room and close his door. His thoughts turned inward again_. If Don's working on a case, then why don't Megan and David know about it? They didn't seem to – David seemed genuinely shocked at the idea of Don being under investigation, and Megan… she's not that good a liar._ He thought some more. _If Megan and David don't know about it, then chances are Colby doesn't either. Don was afraid… of what?_ His mind whirled as he sought desperately to make the connection. _Don's afraid, Megan and Colby and David are out of the loop, and he wanted to tell me… what? What?_

Frustration mounting, Charlie pulled his hands out from behind his head and flipped over onto his stomach. Despite – or perhaps because of – his frenzied brain activity, Professor Charles Eppes promptly fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: My apologies. I was 'off the grid' so to speak. Updates were nigh on impossible. This chapter is loosely based on events of a personal nature. A little insight into 'enigste'.

Chapter 8:

_Present_

Don was snapped out of his reverie by the abrupt arrival of Assistant Director Merrick. His loud voice caused Don to jump slightly in his chair, effectively shattering whatever kept him from feeling the effects of his injury. He was suddenly drenched in sweat, and his vision blurred.

"Gentlemen," Merrick boomed. "This interview is over."

The man on Don's left stood. "This is an Internal Affairs investigation, sir! You can't just…"

"I can, and I just did. Special Agent Eppes is in the middle of a highly sensitive operation and cannot be interrogated right now.'

The second man spoke. "Agent Eppes has been in an Officer Involved Shooting. Policy dictates that we…"

Merrick interrupted again. "You can interview him later on this. Right now, Agent Eppes is unavailable for questioning. Dismissed." Both IAD agents exchanged long looks before gathering their files and departing. Merrick leaned on the table and stared at Don for several seconds before speaking softly. "Don… you look like hell. Are you alright?"

Don closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead with shaking fingers. "I'll be okay." He looked at Merrick. "How are they?" he asked.

"Who? Reeves and Granger?" Don nodded. "They're fine. Bumps and scratches. They'll be good as new in a week. You, on the other hand…" he trailed off and headed for the open door. "Sinclair!" he called. David Sinclair trotted up. Quietly, Merrick said "Take Eppes to the hospital. Discreetly." David nodded and moved to enter the room. "Make sure that's where he goes, David," he added before walking away. David moved next to the table. "Man," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "You look rough. How do you feel?"

"About that good, thanks," Don replied. He placed his palms flat on the tabletop and pushed slowly out of his seat. His knees felt as though they were about to give way. Once to his feet, Don felt a wave of nausea wash over him that made him gasp. He felt David grab his elbow.

"Don! Are you okay?"

He swallowed hard before responding through clenched teeth, "Gimme a minute." He felt David's hand fall away as the other agent acceded to his request. It took several long moments before Don was able to regain mental control. As he straightened up, David said, "I've always wondered how you did that." Don shook his head without speaking and turned toward the door.

Several of their fellow agents made as if to ask Don what had happened, but were abruptly warned off at a glance from David. He walked slightly behind and to the right of his friend, ready to catch him if he should falter. Only once did Don stumble slightly on the way to the elevators, his head held high. He stopped David from grabbing his arm with a frosty look. David understood. Don wasn't going to let anyone see how vulnerable he was. No matter how badly he was hurt.

Once inside the elevator with the doors shut, Don leaned gently against the handrail and let David push the button for the garage. David looked intently at his friend. Don's skin was a sickly greenish-grey and shone with perspiration. "Don, are you going to be able to do this?" he asked.

Don nodded, his eyes closed. David didn't press the point but inside he was certain Don should be in an ambulance. When the elevator reached the correct floor, Don stood erect and waited for the doors to slide open. Due to careful maintenance there was only a small jarring sensation as the elevator halted, but it was enough to cause a groan to escape Don's lips. David poked his head out of the doors and looked around. "The coast is clear," he told his friend. "No one there. You can lean on me now, if you want." Don reached blindly for David's arm and allowed himself to be steered out of the elevator towards Sinclair's FBI-issue Suburban. At one point, when he stumbled rounding the back of the SUV, David wrapped an arm around Don's waist to steady him, causing the older agent to cry out in pain. Quickly shifting his grip, he said, "What is it, Don?"

Don shook his head. Reaching for the door handle he gasped, "I don't… know. It's… getting worse." David watched as he climbed slowly into the truck and collapsed against the headrest.

"Maybe we should call…" David began, but halted when Don shook his head weakly. After swallowing a couple of times and wiping moisture from his brow, Don replied, "You heard Merrick – discreetly." David nodded and carefully shut the door. He ran to his own door and climbed into the drivers' seat, careful not to cause the vehicle to rock too much. He stole a glance at Don as he did up his lap belt. "I don't suppose you're in any shape to do up your seatbelt, huh?" he asked. Don grinned weakly. "Didn't think so," David added. "Hang in there, Don. Help is on the way."

During the drive to the hospital, David asked, "Did you get shot? I don't see any blood."

"Shot _at_," Don amended. "I was wearing my vest." He was breathing easier now he wasn't trying to move, but his skin was much paler and he seemed to be fighting to stay conscious.

David stole another glance at his friend. "Stay with me, Don," he warned. "We're almost there. Tell me what happened."

Don was silent for a moment before responding softly, "Twice. Close range."

"Where?"

He gestured weakly. "Chest. Then lower."

David thought about the implication. "Did you get tapped in the chest first?" he asked. At Don's weak nod, he said, "Then the plate in your vest was compromised."

"Felt okay." Don referred to the usual practice of testing ballistic plating by running your hand over it. If you could feel it, the plate wasn't going to help you stay alive. If he'd already been hit, however, his chest would've been desensitized.

David said, "You've probably got internal injuries." When Don didn't respond, he looked over. Don's head was lolling against the headrest. David reached over and shook his arm. "Don!" he called. "Don, stay with me."

No response. Throwing caution to the wind, David flipped on the lights and siren and floored the accelerator.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here I am, attempting to make up for gross negligence in the 'update' department. Such things lead to mistakes, I know, but I _am_ trying.

Chapter 9:

_Two days previous_

Megan looked up from her monitor. "Charlie!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Good afternoon, Megan," Charlie replied. Nodding at the two agents behind her, he added, "David. Colby." Both men greeted him with a measure of surprise. Turning to Megan, he asked, "Is Don around, by any chance?'

Megan, Colby and David exchanged significant glances. Charlie saw them and asked, "Why do I have a sudden feeling of déjà vu?"

David stood. "Uh, Charlie," he began. "Didn't Don tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

An uncomfortable silence fell. Colby was the first to break it. "Don's been transferred."

Charlie moved to sit in one of the chairs. "Don's been… What? Transferred? When?" he stammered. "I… I don't…" He looked at each one of them in turn. "What happened?"

"We don't know, really," Megan replied. "He asked for the transfer."

Charlie mulled this over. "Maybe the investigation got to him more than he let on." He lifted his gaze to Megan's face. "Maybe he wanted out of the office because…"

"He's not out of the office," David interrupted. "He's upstairs."

Charlie's face was the picture of confusion. "He…" Standing suddenly, he said, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this." He made for the door, but Megan stopped him.

"Charlie wait."

"No Megan," he said firmly. "I'm going to go ask Don what the heck is going on here. None of this makes any sense. Not after…" he trailed off.

Megan searched his expression for some clue to what he wasn't saying. She grasped his arm gently and said, "Come on. We need to talk." Turning to David and Colby, she added, "You guys coming?"

Both men grabbed their suit jackets and pulled them on. "Where are we going?" David asked.

"For a late lunch."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Megan and David sat on one side of the banquette table sipping coffees, while Colby and Charlie sat opposite. Charlie's cup of herbal tea sat untouched on the saucer before him. Colby was drinking from a bottle of mineral water. Megan watched Charlie staring into his cup for several minutes before speaking.

"Not after what?" she asked suddenly. Charlie's head came up with a jerk.

"Sorry, what?"

Megan rested her chin in one hand and met his gaze directly. "You said, back at the office, that Don's transfer didn't make sense. 'Not after…' Not after what?" When Charlie didn't respond, she tried again gently. "Not after what, Charlie? What happened?"

Charlie sighed. "Last night I overheard Don and my dad talking."

"You 'overheard' them?" Colby asked wryly.

Looking sheepishly at the agent through a curtain of dark brown curls, Charlie smiled. "Well, okay. I was eavesdropping." At Megan and David's surprised looks, he hurried to explain. "There was something going on – I could tell. Don wouldn't say, and I know my dad knows about it…"

David asked, "How?"

"Just by the way the two of them were behaving."

"Atta boy, Charlie," Colby said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll make a Federal investigator out of you yet."

Charlie grinned at him momentarily, then sobered. "So I listened. Dad thanked Don for not telling me whatever he's up to, and Don said they'd agreed not to tell me." He paused. In a quieter tone, he added, "He said he didn't think he could go through with it." Charlie missed the looks the three agents exchanged. Raising his voice slightly, he continued. "Dad told Don he could do it, whatever it was, and said it 'wouldn't be for much longer'. Don said…"

David pressed. "Go on Charlie. What did Don say?"

Charlie looked at each one for a moment before replying. "He said it'd be over tomorrow."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Eppes."

Don looked up from his paperwork to find Mike Travers towering over him. "What do _you_ want?"

The other agent frowned. "You really ought to watch your attitude, Eppes."

Standing, Don growled, "Don't threaten me, Travers."

"What's your problem, Eppes? Afraid someone will find out you can't do your job without 'baby brother' to do your thinking for you?" Travers sneered.

Don ground his teeth in frustration. "I'll ask you one more time, Travers. What do you want?"

Travers looked at him silently, the wry grin fading. Finally he said, "McKesson wants to talk to you."

Don brushed past him roughly. "It took that long for the message to get from your tiny brain to your mouth, huh?" Not giving him a chance to reply, Don strode across the room to Roger McKesson's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

Don twisted the knob and stepped inside. "You wanted to see me?" He studied the man seated behind the desk. McKesson was a formidable individual – not in size, but in presence. At first glance, he seemed to be nondescript: medium brown hair, average features, blue eyes. It was what one saw in those eyes, however, that sparked the realization this was no ordinary man, even for an FBI agent.

"Agent Eppes," McKesson greeted him without standing. "Please, have a seat." Once Don had complied, he continued. "You asked to be transferred to Major Crimes, and we're glad to have you."

"Yeah, well," Don said, rubbing his upper lip with one finger. "I couldn't really work where I was anymore, now could I?"

McKesson replied, "No. I suppose the tension levels were a little… extreme."

Don laughed sharply, but there was no humor in it. "You can say _that_ again."

"The stigma of false accusation is, shall we say, acute."

Leaning forward in his seat and propping his elbows on his knees, Don said, "What do you say we drop this whole Arthur Conan Doyle dialogue and get down to it?" McKesson raised his eyebrows, and Don continued, "What did you call me in here for?"

Shuffling the papers in front of him, McKesson replied, "I did a favor for you, Agent Eppes, in getting you out of your office and into mine."

Don leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. Thanks." He crossed his left ankle over his right knee. "And I suppose now you want me to return the favor."

"Very good, Agent," McKesson answered. "Yes, I do. You see?" he added. "Travers was wrong about you after all. You don't need Charlie to help you figure things out."

Don tensed. "Leave him out of this."

"As you like it." McKesson stood and walked to the window. With his back to Don, he said, "I want you to do something for me now, Don." He turned slightly, waiting for Don's response. When he remained silent, McKesson said, "I want you to go on a raid tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: My sincerest apologies to BeckyS and anyone else who has become confused by the timeline of this piece. I forgot that although it was perfectly clear to _me_ where it was going, it would not be to someone else. This is what happens when one does not take the time to reread what they have written. It is a poor writer indeed who cannot lead the reader smoothly through the storyline.

This, then, would be the correct progression:

Chapter 1 – the present day (Incidentally, this chapter takes place in the early morning hours.)

Chapter 2 – two weeks before the present day

Chapter 3 – one week after Chapter 2

Chapter 4 – the same day as Chapter 3

Chapter 5 – four days before Chapter 1

Chapter 6 – three days before Chapter 1

Chapter 7 – the same day as Chapter 6

Chapter 8 – the present day/same day as Chapter 1 (Later on in the morning.)

Chapter 9 – two days before Chapter 1

Ironically enough, being primarily a poetry writer, my initial inclination for the description of this piece was "The day just went from bad to worse – this is the story told in reverse", but I felt that would have been irritating.

And now I bring to you the events from the night before this story began.

Chapter 10:

_One day previous_

All day Don Eppes had gone about the regular business of an FBI agent: making telephone calls, doing paperwork, attending meetings. Purely routine, except for the tension coiled in his gut like an agitated pit viper. Either this would work, or a lot of people were going to get hurt tonight, not the least of whom would be Don himself. _At least I don't need to worry about anyone else's back,_ he thought. Giving in and telling Megan, Colby, David or even Charlie might have put them in harm's way. There was no reason to risk their safety as well as his own.

He was leaning on the open top drawer of a filing cabinet, perusing the contents of a folder, when he felt a large, heavy hand land on his shoulder. "What are you looking at there, Eppes?" Don closed the file and turned his head slowly. "What the hell do you care, Travers?" he replied in a calm tone.

Travers looked at him speculatively. "You don't much like me, do you?"

Don dropped the folder back into the drawer and slammed it shut. "No. I 'don't much like' you, Travers. Why?" Don gave him a hard glare before heading to his desk. "Does that surprise you?"

"You're stupid, you know that Eppes?" Travers sneered, following in Don's wake. "You don't know who calls the shots around here."

Don lowered himself into his seat. "Actually, I know precisely who calls the shots around here." He leaned his elbows on the desk. "And it's definitely not you."

Travers stared at Don silently for a moment before leaning down. "You better just watch yourself, Agent Eppes. Maybe McKesson's got a use for you, but as soon as you've outlived it…" Travers mimed pointing a gun at Don's head and firing. Don remained motionless, his eyes locked on Travers' face. The other man drew himself up to his full height and straightened his jacket. Glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard, he said, "There's going to be a call tonight." Don nodded silently. This was the raid McKesson told him about. Travers glanced at him before continuing. "You already know your part. It'll come in as a kidnapping." Again, Don nodded. "There's going to be eight of us altogether, but the only ones in on what's really going down are you, me, and McKesson." Turning to leave, he offered a parting shot. "Don't be late, Eppes."

Don watched him walk across the room and drop into his own chair. When Travers turned to talk to the agent next to him, Don let out the breath he'd been holding. To himself, he murmured, "We won't."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Okay, then. Here's what will happen." Megan sat forward in her chair and stared at each of the men nearby. When she got to a pair of deep brown eyes, she asked, "Are you sure you want in on this Charlie?"

Charlie nodded vigorously. "Whatever trouble Don's in, I need to help him."

Megan smiled. "Not just 'want to', eh Charlie?" She sat back and folded her arms. "I told Don a while ago that we'd have his back." She glanced at Colby and David. "He said 'I'm counting on it'. That tells me he's hoping that whatever this operation is, we're gonna cover him on it."

"I still think this is a bad idea," Colby interjected. "If Don wanted us actively involved, he would have told us what he's doing."

David replied, "Maybe he couldn't. Or maybe he trusts that we'll do just what we're doing now – figure it out, and plan on how we're going to be there for him."

Megan looked from one agent to the other. Turning to Charlie, she cocked her head and asked, "What do you think? From a mathematical point of view."

Charlie laced his fingers together on the tabletop. Shifting slightly, he replied, "You mean logically." It wasn't a question. At her nod, he shrugged and said, "It's about even as to what Don meant. He could have meant – like David said – that he wanted you to back him up on this in the physical sense." Colby snorted. Undaunted, Charlie continued, "Or he could have meant whatever the outcome, he wanted you to stand by him – psychologically." David opened his mouth to protest, but Charlie forestalled him with an upraised hand. "I'm not saying either one of you is right. Those are just the possibilities." Turning back to Megan, he added, "Based on emotion? I say we should be there."

Colby laughed out loud. "Right, Charlie," he said. "The four of us!"

Megan gave him a pointed look before asking Charlie, "What's your idea?"

"I've programmed Don's SID and cell phone number into my laptop computer, linking it to basic audio software…" Charlie began, but David interrupted. "Charlie! You _cloned_ Don's cell phone?"

Charlie stammered, "Well... well, technically…"

"It's alright, Charlie," Megan said, coming to his rescue. "In this situation, we'll overlook it."

"Yeah," Colby added. "As long as you don't make a habit of it." Charlie shook his head, and Colby continued. "So we can listen in to his phone. Now what?"

"Now," Megan replied. "You, Charlie, get Don over to your house for the evening. When he gets the call…"

"How do we know," cut in David, "that Don hasn't already gotten it?"

Smirking, Megan answered, "I have my sources."

"For that, read Charlene, the office clerk across the hall from Major Crimes," Colby said, elbowing David.

"You seemed to like her just fine last Friday, Granger," Megan protested.

"Um – excuse me?" Charlie interrupted their good-natured bantering with a frown. "Can we get back to the business at hand, please?"

The three FBI agents immediately sobered. Colby muttered, "Sorry man."

"Fine – whatever. Look," Charlie said, his irritation obvious. "Don is in some kind of mess, and we need to make sure he's got someone on hand to help him out if needed." He stood and began pacing. "I don't need to tell you probability factors for possible outcomes – I'm sure you can figure that out for yourselves." He stopped abruptly and turned to place his hands on the table. "What, exactly, were these two agents into?"

David turned to face him. "All we ever heard was scuttlebutt, Charlie. Nothing definite." Glancing at Megan and Colby, he added, "There was talk of these two, McKesson and Travers, falsifying case reports. The usual things: less narcotics recovered than was originally reported, things missing from houses where investigations were conducted…"

"How does that work?"

"Well," Megan explained. "Homeowners would call in for something else – let's say a home invasion – and when those two went out to do the follow-up, they'd have it in the reports that valuables were stolen."

"When in fact they weren't," David put in. "At least, not when the bad guys left. The stuff would only go missing _after_ McKesson and Travers did their 'investigation'."

"Whoa," Charlie said softly. "You mean _these two_ were doing the stealing?"

Megan nodded. "But nothing could be proven. So they got off, and the whole thing was hushed up."

"There wasn't even enough to get them dismissed," Colby added. "I heard the DA _thought_ they had enough, but the evidence was ruled 'inconclusive'." He glanced at David. "And then there was this investigation against Don…" He turned to Megan.

"For evidence tampering," she said firmly. "I'll admit it, Granger. I was a little suspicious at first. But now we think it was just a plan to get McKesson and Travers' attention."

"Right." David stood up from the table. "So, Charlie? Keep your computer on and your eyes open. Make sure Don goes to your house tonight. And call when he leaves the house." Turning to Megan and Colby, he said, "You guys better get yourselves set up not too far from there so you can follow Don wherever he goes."

"What are _you_ going to do?" Colby asked.

"I'm going to see if there isn't some way I can let him know what we're up to, without anyone else catching on."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I'm glad I didn't lose all my readers in the confusion. Again, I do apologize. This chapter is short due to two factors. One: It is merely a segue to the next incident, and two: I must be away for a short time and my schedule won't allow for a longer piece. One more thing: This part begins shortly after Chapter 10 ended.

Chapter 11:

David stepped off the elevator and looked around. He hadn't been in this part of the building very often, and still needed a minute to recall where things were. He'd been given the walkthrough when he'd transferred in a couple of years ago, but he'd only been to the Major Crimes unit once or twice since. Pausing in the doorway, he craned his neck to see over the tops of the cubicle walls in the hopes he'd be able to spot Don's dark head. After a moment his prayers were answered as Don stood at his desk and picked up his suit jacket in preparation for going home. David made his way over to Don's area.

"Hey, Don," he called when he got close. Don looked up, surprised.

"David! What are you doing up here?"

David glanced around and noticed a heavyset agent with craggy features watching them. "I came down to let you know that you've left some materials at your old station. Proper procedure states that since _you_ removed them from Records, _you_ need to put them back."

A momentary flash of bewilderment chased across Don's features. He whispered, "David, what…?" He broke off when the other man glared. "Oh," Don said in a conversational tone. "Well… I don't suppose one of you could re-file them for me, could you?"

David placed his hands on his hips and dropped his gaze down, the picture of contemplation. "I guess I could ask Merrick to do it. He's got the authority." He looked up at Don again. "But you know, you really should be doing it yourself. And considering what happened before…" He broke off at the momentary expression of disappointment in his friend's eyes. "Oh – not that I believed any of that," he added hurriedly. Out of the corner of his eye, David could see the agent he remembered Megan calling 'Travers' slowly getting up from his desk. "None of us did, really." He searched Don's face, hoping for a glimmer of understanding. "Me, Megan, Colby – we've all got your back. Don't worry." Turning as if to leave, he added, "Maybe you should come up tomorrow and re-file the reports yourself, so Merrick doesn't get back on your case, huh?" Don nodded. "See you later?" David asked.

"Uh… sure," Don replied. He glanced at Travers. To David, he said, "Gimme a call sometime, okay?"

David waved at him before disappearing through the doorway. Don glanced at Travers' approaching figure as he shrugged on his jacket. Brushing past the other agent, he made his way out the door, refusing to acknowledge the man's questioning stare.

Travers watched Don until the elevator doors slid shut and then headed for McKesson's office. Knocking briefly, he opened the door and poked his head through the opening. McKesson looked up from his paperwork. "Yes?"

"Eppes and his buddies are up to something," Travers replied shortly.

McKesson set his pen down and placed his fingertips together, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. After a moment of thought, he folded his hands in his lap and spoke in a low, deadly tone. "Then Agent Eppes – _and_ his friends – will have to be taken care of. Tonight."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Charlie!" Alan called. "It's suppertime!"

Coming to the head of the stairs, the young mathematician replied, "I'll be down in a minute, Dad." Before Alan turned away, he added, "Is Don here yet?"

"Yeah," Alan answered. "He just walked in, why?"

Charlie shrugged. "Just wondering. I'll be right there." He turned and headed back into his room, where his laptop computer sat on the bed, open and ready to go. Punching a couple of keys, Charlie murmured to himself, "Okay, Don. Now we've got you covered."

Closing the door behind him, Charlie jogged down the stairs to the dining room where his father and older brother were already seated at the table.

"What took you so long, Chuck?" Don asked good-naturedly. Charlie was pleased to see a small smile on Don's face – a rare sight lately.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Just saving my work," Charlie replied. To Alan he said, "Pass the salad, please."

The three men ate in companionable silence. When their plates were empty, Don pushed back from the table and said, "That was great Dad. Thanks."

"I think that's the first time in a long time that you've actually been here for an entire meal," Alan replied. "Maybe you should have transferred sooner." Charlie glanced up as Don's expression clouded. Alan stood and began gathering up the dirty dishes. "You might even get to have something of a normal life now," he added as he headed for the kitchen.

Don sighed and got up from the table. "Where are you going?" Charlie asked.

Looking at his brother oddly, he replied, "Into the living room to watch some TV. You mind?"

Charlie shook his head. He watched as Don dropped into a comfortable chair and picked up the remote control. He had just raised his hand to pointitat thetelevision when his cell phone rang. Charlie watched as Don set the remote down, unclipped the phone from his belt and flipped it open. Putting it to his ear he said, "Eppes." He listened for a moment and then snapped the phone shut without a word. As Don stood and headed for the front door and their coats, Charlie asked, "You're leaving?"

Don paused in the act of putting on his jacket. "Yeah. Sorry," he replied. "Gotta go to work, Charlie. You know how it is." Charlie nodded quickly, curls bouncing. Straightening his collar, Don added, "Catch you later, okay?" He placed his hand on the door handle.

"Don?" Charlie stood up, the sudden movement catching his brother's attention better than the single, softly spoken word. Don turned. "Watch yourself, okay?"

Don stared at Charlie for a long moment before nodding once. Then he opened the door and was gone.

The heavy wooden door had barely clicked shut before Charlie was racing up the stairs, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he went.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Here's the next chapter. Another short one, I'm afraid. A breather before I'm off again. The first part is self-explanatory; the second is thenext bit from 'last night', as it were. I confess that this was uncomfortable to write. As a result, it may not read as smoothly as desired.

Chapter 12:

_Present day_

David pulled up to the emergency doors at UCLA medical center, effectively blocking the entrance. As he jumped out of the SUV, a woman in green surgical scrubs came running out of the hospital, one hand holding her stethoscope in place. "Sir! You can't park there! It's for ambulances only!"

David barely spared her a glance. Running around to the opposite side of the truck, he said, "Give me a hand here!" He opened Don's door and reached inside, the woman materializing beside him.

"What happened?" she asked calmly as she helped him ease Don out of the truck. "Who is he?" Don let out a tortured groan as David wrapped his arm around Don's midsection. She lifted Don's other arm and drew it across her shoulders, grasping the back of Don's belt.

"His name is Don Eppes," David replied as they made their way to the sliding emergency doors. "FBI. He got shot at this morning."

Calling for someone to bring a gurney, she asked, "And you're just bringing him in _now?"_ She quickly looked him over. "Where's he hit?"

Together they manoeuvred Don onto the rolling cot brought out by another member of the center's staff. Semi-conscious, Don sucked in his breath sharply and curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his abdomen. David removed Don's gun holster as he replied, "He wasn't, really." At the woman's sharp glance, he explained, "He was wearing a vest.It got hit twice. I don't know what's wrong with him." He stepped back as thestretcher began to move. Looking at the woman, he asked, "Are you a doctor?"

"ER resident," she answered shortly. Gesturing with a nod of her head at the receding gurney, she added, "I have to go now, but I'll let you know what I find out as soon as I can." She disappeared through the doorway. David had been keeping pace with her, but now slowed to a halt. As the doors slid shut, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. He quickly dialled a number and waited for it to be picked up.

"Mr. Eppes? It's David Sinclair." He paused and then said, "Sir, is Charlie there with you?" He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't cause unnecessary alarm. "Don's been injured… I'm with him at UCLA. Could you come down here? Or would you rather I get someone to… All right. I'll be waiting." Snapping the phone shut, he let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood how difficult it was for Don to inform the families of other agents. _Wouldn't have his job for all the oranges in California,_ he thought as he stepped through the doublewide doors.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_Previous night_

Don pulled up to the 'victim' house, noting the presence of FBI-issue vehicles, and the conspicuous absence of local law enforcement. He knew this time the case was a fake. What he didn't know was: why the deviation? Each time before, the cases were real. Travers and McKesson just took advantage of the opportunity presented to them to swipe valuable items from the victims' homes. He sat for a moment in his own vehicle, tempted to pull out his phone and call for real backup. Compressing his lips into a thin line, Don shrugged off his seatbelt and climbed out of the vehicle. Another thought made him pause: why would McKesson and Travers deliberately bring along agents not in on their plans?

_There's going to be eight of us altogether, but the only ones in on what's really going down are you, me, and McKesson._

He stood beside his SUV lost in thought, one hand on the open door. Eight altogether. That means five innocents. Why?

A hand reached around from behind him and shoved the door shut. Don jumped, turning to find Travers sneering at him. "Eppes," he said.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Don.

"We already told you what's going down, Eppes." Travers started heading for the house. "You stupid or something?"

Don trotted up beside him and grabbed his sleeve. "I was told this would 'come in as a kidnapping'. Which means it isn't. And you said there'd be _eight_ agents here." He stopped, his grip on Travers' arm making him halt as well. "What are the others doing at a fake investigation?"

The other agent jerked out of Don's grasp. "McKesson and me, we took quite a bit of heat from IAD," he began. At Don's nod, he crossed his arms and smirked. "Well, we wouldn't have – if it hadn't been for a few people sticking their noses into our business."

Don's head snapped back as though he'd been physically hit. The five agents were here for payback. He wished now that he'd told David where he was going to be.

Travers let his arms drop. "You coming or what?" he asked, turning back toward the house. Don hesitated. His mind raced for a way to get out of the whole deal. The knowing gleam in Travers' eyes put his feet in motion at last_. I've got to go through with this,_ he thought. _If for no other reason than to try to save their lives._ He nodded and followed Travers up the walk.

-x-x-x-x-x-

From a hedge on the north side of the house David, Megan and Colby and several other FBI agents waited. Megan and Colby exchanged looks as Don came to a halt on the sidewalk, his arm on Travers' sleeve. They couldn't hear what was said between the two men, but it was obviously upsetting to Don. When Don and Travers resumed walking, David spoke. "Okay. Everyone into position." The other agents scurried away around the back of the house. To Megan and Colby, he said "We'll go in the front after everything's set." They nodded.

Don and Travers disappeared from sight. They could see the light from an open door on the lawn that grew more slender as the door was closed. When it was completely extinguished David said, "Let's move." Into his two-way radio he said, "Team one moving into position." Whatever the response had been must have been affirmative because he nodded. "Let's go."

The three of them half-crouched, half-ran to the front of the house, pausing only long enough to make sure no one was standing on the front porch of the Victorian-style home. It was set on a large piece of property, with the nearest neighbor over a thousand yards away. Colby and David took up positions on either side of the front door. Megan slid soundlessly toward a nearby window and peered in through a gap in the curtains.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: A short interlude until I can submit the next chapter. Thank you to all who have stayed with me.

Chapter 13:

_Present_

_There was a dull noise. A droning sound. If he concentrated, it almost sounded like Charlie._

_Too hard._

He allowed himself to drift back into the warm darkness.

-x-

_The droning sound again – what the hell was it? Like an annoying fly, caught indoors._

_A fly. Brush it away._

-x-

Charlie saw his hand twitch. Rushing to the side of the bed, he said eagerly, "Don?" Alan moved in behind him while the resident stood opposite, checking his IV. Resting his hand on Charlie's shoulder, he said, "Easy, Charlie. Chances are he can't hear us." They both stood silently, waiting for another sign Don was returning to consciousness.

A few moments later, Don shifted his head slightly. Charlie leaned in closer. "Don?" he called. "It's Charlie. Wake up, Don."

-x-

More droning._ Closer now._ He concentrated on the noise, hoping to pinpoint where the fly was. Listening hard.

-x-

Charlie looked at the resident with concern. "Why is he frowning? Is he in pain?"

She shook her head. "The pain medications we're giving him should have gotten rid of it. I'm not sure why." She took his vitals and wrote them on her clipboard. "Everything looks okay."

"Maybe he's dreaming, Charlie," Alan put in. Charlie glanced at his father and then back at Don.

"Doesn't look like a good dream," he said.

-x-

_Not a fly._ Using all of his strength, he focused on the sound, forcing his brain to sort through the buzzing. Slowly, a voice made it through the fog: "…A good dream." Charlie. _Who's having a good dream, Charlie?_ he wanted to ask. He pushed the thought away and listened.

-x-

"We should go and let him rest," Alan said, pulling gently at Charlie's shoulder. Naturally the younger man resisted. He always was stubborn.

"Not until he answers me."

The resident looked at him sadly. "Professor Eppes," she said. "Your brother is heavily sedated. It's unlikely that he'll be conscious enough for _anything_ in the next twenty-four hours."

Charlie shook his dark curls, his eyes never leaving Don's face. "You don't know my brother."

-x-

_So tired._ He wanted to open his eyes, to let Charlie know he was listening. He felt like he was underwater with weights on. He let go of the sound, focusing instead on making himself speak. It took a lot of effort.

-x-

Charlie had just opened his mouth to add to his last comment when he heard Don mumble. "…Lee."

Alan and his youngest son exchanged quizzical looks. Charlie leaned closer, sparing the resident a triumphant glance. "Don? What did you say?" The silence in the room was almost deafening.

Don's lips barely moved. This time, his voice was the faintest whisper, causing Charlie to turn his head so he could better hear what Don was saying.

"Charlie."

Charlie looked at his father, excitement in his eyes. Quickly turning back, he said, "I'm here Don. Dad's here too." He waited, holding his breath.

"…Sorry." It came out as not much more than a hiss of air, but Charlie heard. Drawing back his head, he looked at his brother in astonishment.

"What is it?" Alan asked. "What did he say?"

Charlie shook his head, confused. "He said… He's _sorry?"_

Gently pulling on Charlie's shoulders, Alan steered him away from the bed and moved in closer. Leaning down, he took Don's hand in his own and patted it gently. "Don?" he began. "Donny? It's Dad. Can you hear me?" He took the slight movement in his hand as assent. "Don, there's no reason for you to be sorry, okay?" He waited for a response. When none seemed forthcoming, he tried again. "You did good Don. Don't worry, alright?"

"Mr. Eppes." The resident's soft voice broke in on Alan's concentration. She addressed Charlie as well. "Professor Eppes – you both really must let Don rest now. It's very important."

Charlie and Alan both gazed at her blankly. Charlie came to his senses first. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked.

She glanced at Don for a moment. "It's really a matter of time." Looking up into the concerned faces of Don's family, she adopted a soothing tone. "Most of the time, simply allowing the patient to heal does the job."

"But?" Alan asked.

"But." She sighed. "Sometimes it doesn't. Then we resort to surgery."

Charlie shook his head as though clearing it. "So he could still wind up in the operating room?" he asked. "If he does need surgery, doesn't waiting increase the risk?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. But we'd rather not do it at all if he can heal on his own."

Alan reached down and softly ran his hand over Don's hair. "Did you hear that, Donny? You've got to get some rest so you can get better." He gently laid his son's hand on the bed, careful not to touch any other part of his body. "We'll be back, Don. You rest now, okay?" He waited a moment and then added, "I'm proud of you, Don. We both are." He looked at Charlie for affirmation.

Charlie studied his brother's face. It didn't look so tense anymore. "Yeah, Don," he chimed in. "I figured out what you were up to. I'm proud of you too, big brother."

Together they turned and left the room.

As the voices faded, so did Don's level of consciousness. Warm and reassured, he stopped fighting the haze in his mind and relaxed into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: There is one 'bad' word here. I usually abstain from using them, but it seems to be a common phrase. I left it in, despite my misgivings. I have not changed the rating for this fic, although I will if it is deemed appropriate.

Chapter 14:

_Present_

The droning was back. He listened, hoping to hear his brother's or his father's voice, but it was different this time. It came from inside his head. Easier to cope with than actually concentrating. He allowed himself to relax and let the sounds and images flow into his mind.

-x-

McKesson met them in the hallway, an indecipherable expression on his face. "Any problems?" he asked Travers.

The burly agent nodded in Don's direction. "He was asking all sorts of questions about the other agents we brought along."

"And what did you say?" McKesson's gaze never left Don's face. There was something calculating in that look.

Travers barked a short laugh. "Payback's a bitch."

Nodding, McKesson spoke at last to Don. "So you know why they're here, and of course you know about our operation." It wasn't a question, so Don didn't answer. "Now I suppose you're wondering why _you're_ here?"

Travers stepped back against the wall and gestured for Don to precede him into the next room. Obligingly, he walked into what must have been a living room, except there was no furniture. Only the curtains remained. Standard issue flood lamps illuminated the room. In their harsh glare, Don saw five people – one woman and four men. They were standing together, more or less huddled in one corner of the room. One of the men glanced up and, seeing Don, strode toward him.

"Agent Eppes," he greeted, concern in his voice. "Agent Verona. We met on that smuggling operation a few months ago, remember?"

Don shook his hand briefly and nodded. "How have you been?" he asked.

"Fine, thanks." Glancing over Don's shoulder at Travers and McKesson, Verona lowered his voice slightly. "Do you know what's going on? I got a memo saying to report to MC for an op tonight at this address. What are _they_ doing here?"

Also dropping his tone, Don asked, "Who signed the memo?"

The other agent thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't remember, really."

"Go ask the others," Don commanded. "See if one of them knows." He watched as Verona turned back to the group and began questioning them quietly.

McKesson strode to his side. "What did you say to him, Eppes?" he demanded.

Don shrugged. "Nothing much. He wanted to say hello." Glancing at the group, he added softly, "What are you going to do to them?"

"That's not your concern, Eppes," McKesson replied. "You're not here to baby-sit.'

Don rounded on him. "Just why _am_ I here, then?" he asked.

The look that passed over the older man's face caused Don to rapidly reconsider the wisdom of putting himself in this position.

-x-

Charlie looked at his brother with concern. For the past ten minutes Don had seemed different. Almost… tense. He studied the smooth brow – the slight furrowing that came and went so quickly Charlie could almost believe he imagined it. Then the corners of his brother's mouth would twitch downward momentarily, and he knew he was right.

"Excuse me, nurse?" He addressed the pretty young woman who was pushing buttons on the monitor next to Don's bed. She turned immediately. "Yes?" Instead of responding, Charlie nodded in Don's direction.

She watched him briefly and then reached for an aural thermometer. Holding to Don's ear, she waited until it beeped before examining the readout.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

She looked at him sympathetically. "It's a little high, but nothing to worry about." She made a small notation on Don's chart and left.

Charlie gazed at his brother's face for a long time, watching for some sign – of what, he didn't know – before finally getting up from his chair and grabbing the chart. A quick scan, and he was out the door, looking for the doctor.

-x-

Don stood to one side of the room, watching. McKesson and Travers seemed to be having some sort of private argument. _Travers probably wants to shoot me,_ he thought. He held onto the hope that he could somehow find a way out – for himself and the others. Verona walked across the room.

"No one remembers," he said softly. "Keeler thinks it might have been signed by Merrick, though."

Don nodded. "This is going to get bad." He glanced at Verona's face to see if he understood. "You need to be ready to move."

Verona met Don's eyes squarely. "You can count on us," he replied.

"Don't get heroic on me. This could go sour in a heartbeat."

The other man nodded once and rejoined his comrades on the opposite side of the room. Don stiffened as Travers approached, his pace just short of running.

"I've had just about enough of you!" he hissed. "What are you up to?"

"What's the matter?" Don sneered. "Are you outnumbered?"

Travers looked at the agents, who were now casting furtive glances in their direction. "Them?" He shook his head. "They'll get what's coming to them." He turned back to Don, jabbing a beefy finger in his solar plexus. "And so will you."

He resisted the urge to rub the sore spot. "You're sure about that, are you?"

Travers glanced back at McKesson, who nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, grabbing Don by the upper arm. Across the room, the group of agents tensed, and Don shot Verona a warning look. Wrenching his arm out of Travers' grasp, he said, "You won't get two feet with a roomful of armed agents, you moron."

"Oh but you see, Agent Eppes," McKesson called from his position by the door. "This is what I was talking about before." Don looked at him, puzzled. Travers reattached his hand to Don's arm, his grip like iron. McKesson continued. "You don't actually think we would have gathered a group of our enemies together in one room and allowed them to bring weapons, do you?"

Don looked at Verona and the others, bile rising in his throat. After one panicky look at McKesson, Verona reached for his shoulder holster. Drawing out his pistol, he popped the clip and checked the ammunition. Don could tell from the expression on the other man's face that it was less than satisfactory. He quickly glanced at the other agents, who were also checking their weapons. They had the same result.

McKesson's laugh drew Don's attention. "Well, if I was going to go to the trouble of getting them all here, then I might as well look after the details, don't you think? They were all ordered to draw fresh ammunition."

"You…" Don fought to keep his temper in check. "What did you do?"

Travers began dragging Don out of the room. "Not much," he grinned. "Just gave them all damp ammo."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

_Previous night_

"What's going on?" David whispered.

Try as she might, Megan couldn't see more than a small fraction of the room's interior. The gap in the curtains simply wasn't wide enough. "I can't… all I can see is Don, talking to someone. I can't tell who."

David paused, thinking hard. They could go in now, and possibly jeopardize Don's operation, or…

"We wait," he said finally, repeating the command into his radio. Megan turned toward him, more than a little agitated. "He could be in real danger," she hissed.

"I know, Megan, but…" David broke off as he heard Colby swearing in low tones. Looking up, they observed several cars pulling up, their headlights off. "Who the hell is that?" David asked. He crept soundlessly off of the porch, only to break into a run as soon as his shoes touched grass. He skidded to a halt just as the doors on the vehicles opened and several black-clad men climbed out. He identified himself to the first man he met, asking for the person in charge. The man cocked a thumb over his shoulder wordlessly. Puzzling at this rude behavior, David dodged around him. Another man grabbed him by the shoulder. "Who are you?" he asked.

David studied his face for a moment, trying to place his features and failing. "Special Agent David Sinclair, FBI," he replied. "And you are?"

"How many are with you, Agent Sinclair?"

David took a step back. "Answer my question first," he replied warily. The man glanced over David's shoulder and nodded. Suddenly David felt himself grabbed from behind. Strong arms wrapped around him and he was thrown to the ground, roughly searched and relieved of his weapon. His face burned in anger as his own handcuffs were used to secure his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth to yell, but someone gagged him with what felt like leather gloves. The man he'd been talking to crouched down next to his head.

"It wouldn't have been very intelligent of you to yell for your friends, Agent Sinclair. They would've gotten nervous, and then somebody could've been hurt." He gazed at David for another moment before standing and walking away. David heard him speaking in low tones to someone else, and he was abruptly picked up and dragged over to one of the cars, where he was propped against a fender unceremoniously and abandoned. He looked over at the house quickly. Colby and Megan were standing on the porch, looking curiously at the group approaching them. _Get out,_ he thought desperately. _Get away!_ As if they had heard him, the other two agents suddenly darted off of the porch in opposite directions around the house with several of the newcomers in hot pursuit. David cursed his own stupidity and drew his knees up to his chest, attempting to work the material out of his mouth using his knees and tongue. Finally free of the gag, he contorted and twisted until he was able to get his hands underneath him and draw his legs through. He grabbed his shoulder microphone and called, "This is Special Agent David Sinclair of the FBI calling central dispatch. Officers need assistance! Send all available units to my location…" He watched intently as a small war erupted near the northeast corner of the house. Rattling the address off to the dispatcher, he released the button and began patting down his pockets for a spare key to his handcuffs. The dispatcher acknowledged in a crackle of static just as he located it. He fumbled it out of his pocket and was soon free of his restraints. Jumping to his feet, David retrieved his gun from where it had been tossed and ran to join the fray.

-x-

Travers had roughly escorted Don out of the living room and down the hall toward the back of the house. Once in the kitchen, he shoved him into a chair – the only piece of furniture to be seen – while simultaneously relieving him of his gun and handcuffs. Travers pulled Don's hands behind him in preparation to cuffing them together when a loud commotion outside made him pause. "What the hell…?" he muttered. Leaning over Don's shoulder, he waved the newly acquired weapon in Don's face. "Stay put, Eppes, or I'll turn you into a human colander." He strode to the door and looked out the window.

The door exploded inward as someone from the outside kicked it in, catching Travers squarely in the chest and knocking him sideways. Don stood abruptly and put his hands up to show he was unarmed. As the agent coming through the door recognized him, Travers put Don's handgun to the side of the man's head and pulled the trigger.

"NO!" Don screamed, throwing himself on Travers and wresting the gun away. It was too late for the agent, but his fury was uncontrollable. Even though Travers was considerably larger than Don, he was no match for the strength that rode in the wake of Don's anger. He wrenched the pistol out of Travers' hand and brought it back across his temple with a satisfying crunch. As the other man crumpled to the ground, Don grabbed his handcuffs from where they had fallen on the floor and secured Travers' hands behind his back. He stood, panting, and looked at the FBI agent that had come through the door. There was no question the man was beyond help. Don gave in to a sudden impulse and kicked Travers in the gut.

Moving over to the dead agent, Don gingerly removed the Kevlar vest from his rapidly cooling body. Strapping it on, he chanced a glance out the back door. There was some kind of confrontation going on between FBI agents in riot gear and an unknown faction. _They'll have to fend for themselves,_ Don thought briefly. Checking the ammunition in his pistol, he slammed the clip home and headed back to the living room.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: My apologies to those who were frustrated by the last chapter. The 'cliff-hanger' wasn't intentional. I simply ran out of time. I suppose, if I wrote these pieces in their entirety and _then_ submitted them, I wouldn't keep running into time constraints. As it is, I ask that you all bear with me – this is all off the top of my head.

This piece is a continuation of the events of Chapter 15. It is also the second last chapter. At least, I _think_ it is.

Chapter 16:

Don sidled up to the doorway of the living room, gun held at the ready. Chancing a quick glance around the frame, he was taken back by the sight of a slowly growing pool of red on the carpeting. Whoever had been hit was out of his line of vision, but Don didn't think the victim was still alive, judging from the size of the stain.

Stepping quickly to the opposite side of the opening, he peered through again. He couldn't see any of the agents he had been standing with a few moments ago. There was also no sign of McKesson. Judging from the sounds of gunfire _outside_, Don figured no one had noticed the shooting going on _inside_ – he definitely hadn't heard it. Anger rose in him for the second time that night as he thought of the five agents he'd walked away from less than ten minutes ago. They had had no way to defend themselves against an armed criminal bent on revenge. _And I left them to their fate,_ he berated himself. _I was armed, they weren't. I could've…_

Don's train of thought was abruptly broken as a loud report sounded inside the room. He dove into the light, performing a shoulder-roll and coming to his feet with his weapon trained on McKesson's head.

"You're very slippery, aren't you Agent Eppes?" the other man drawled. "I thought Travers took care of you in the kitchen." The other agents were standing grouped together in the corner, every one with a murderous look on their face.

Don didn't trust himself to speak. He quickly glanced down at the prone figure on the worn shag. It was Verona. Looking back at McKesson he stood upright and took a step forward. McKesson said, "I wouldn't if I were you." He swung his hand up, showing he still held his pistol. Pointing it at the remaining agents, he added, "I'll be forced to shoot another one." Don's gait didn't falter. His aim never wavered from its target. McKesson brought his gun around, pointed it at Don's chest and pulled the trigger.

The shock of the round hitting the vest knocked Don off his feet and the air out of his lungs. He was vaguely aware of movement from the corner, but wasn't able to tell the fool to stay put. There was a shot, and something heavy hit the floor.

Forcing himself to draw air into his stunned respiration system, Don rolled up on one side and pushed himself off of the floor. From his sitting position he could see another agent lying in a circle of crimson, like a macabre painting. Climbing to his feet, he ran an experimental hand over his chest before once again drawing a bead on McKesson.

"You're either brave or stupid, Agent Eppes," McKesson drawled. "Which is it?" The sound of gunfire outside increased, joined by the wailing of sirens.

Fighting to maintain his balance, Don replied, "Probably both." He saw movement from the agents in the corner. He stepped sideways, hoping the act would cause McKesson to turn with him, thereby keeping the others out of his line of sight. "You, on the other hand," he snarled, "Are just plain stupid." Don could have jumped for joy when McKesson followed his progress around the perimeter of the room. He could see one of the men creeping up behind McKesson, gun reversed in his hand. "You and Travers thought you were so clever, beating those charges."

"With your help," McKesson grinned. "Thank you ever so much for that, Agent Eppes." The agent behind him faltered, confusion written on his face.

Don tried to regain lost ground. He needed the other agents to trust him. "Yeah. That worked pretty good, didn't it? You thought I did you a favor, and then when it looked like I needed some help, you jumped right in." He smiled slowly. "Worked like a charm." McKesson's face contorted in rage. He brought his gun up level with Don's head.

Several things happened at once. Don ducked and dove to one side, the agent behind McKesson brought the butt of his pistol down in a skull-crushing arc – and McKesson pulled the trigger. Don felt the second round slam into his vest, grateful for both the protective body armor and the other man's poor aim. It hurt nevertheless and he lay motionless for a moment in an attempt to bring the pain under control. Slowly pushing himself up from the floor again, he saw the man who'd cold-cocked McKesson standing nearby watching him warily.

"Thanks," Don gasped. The effort required to actually stand up was beyond him for a second, so he remained where he was.

"Was what he was saying the truth?"

"Depends on how you look at it," Don replied. He still hadn't managed to get his pain receptors under control. He distantly registered the thought that the firefight outside seemed to have ended.

Taking a step closer, the other man said, "Sounded like he was saying you were one of them."

Don glanced up. "Don't be thick. Of course he was supposed to think that." He shifted slightly as he realised one corner of his vest was digging into his waist. _Damn! That hurts, _he thought. Refocusing his attention on the man in front of him, he added, "If he'd thought for a moment that I _wasn't_ dirty, we never would've been able to build a case."

Mulling it over for a second, the agent finally offered Don a hand. He took it gratefully and eased himself to his feet. "Thanks."

"No problem, I guess."

Don stuck out his hand. "Don Eppes." The other man took it. "Brian Cramer," he replied. "I guess I should be thanking you."

Shaking his head, Don replied, "There's nothing to thank me for."

Cramer looked at the two bodies on the floor. "The rest of us could've ended up like that." He shrugged. "That's something."

Don gazed at the two men sadly. He whispered, "That wasn't supposed to happen."

Cramer looked down at them as well. "It never is, is it?"

-x-

Alan stepped out of the elevator to find his youngest son having a heated argument with a member of the hospital's staff.

"Whoa, whoa Charlie!" he interjected. "What's going on here?" To the young man at his elbow, he said, "I'm Alan Eppes – Don's father." Indicating with his thumb, he added, "His too, although I'm not sure if I should be admitting that. What's happened?"

"I'm Doctor Hildebrand," the young man replied. "Don's physician. Your son here seems to think he knows better than I what would be best for his brother."

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh. Turning to Alan, he explained, "I was merely trying to say that I think it might be a good idea to stop Don's sedative."

"Professor Eppes," Hildebrand began calmly. "I told you – the best thing for your brother is complete rest. Sedation is only helping the healing process."

"That's why he's been running a fever – because it helps," Charlie snapped. "Amazing medical techniques you've got here."

Alan cut in, "Don's running a fever?" Charlie's dark curls bobbed as he nodded his head vigorously. Turning to the doctor Alan asked, "What's causing it?"

"It's a low-grade fever. He's receiving intravenous antibiotics," he replied. "It's nothing to worry about."

Charlie snorted in exasperation. "I'm telling you…"

"And I'm telling you," Hildebrand interrupted. "It's better for your brother to be under sedation. Now if you'll excuse me?" He walked away.

"What's the matter with you, Charlie?" Alan asked. "They know what they're doing."

"Dad," Charlie began. Instead of completing his thought, he took his father by the arm and steered him into a nearby lounge. Sitting on a plastic couch, he waited until Alan did the same before continuing. "Don's fever had been gradually getting worse."

Alan leaned his elbows on his knees. "What're you getting at?" he asked.

Charlie shook his head. "It's not a medical thing, Dad. It's a personal one. I think Don is fighting." He sighed and leaned back into the cushions. "I think that's what's causing the fever."

"But fighting what, Charlie?" Alan was puzzled. "He's got the medications he needs – you heard the doctor…"

"He's fighting to wake up, I think."

Alan snorted. "What kind of nonsense is this? It's not like you to think up some inane thing like…"

Charlie jumped up from the couch and began pacing, anger in his every move. "It's not inane. Maybe it sounds farfetched – I suppose it does." He stopped and looked at his father earnestly, willing him to understand. "If Don were awake right now, what do you think he'd be doing?"

"Trying his damnedest to get out of here." Alan raised his voice slightly. "All the more reason for him to be kept sleeping until he's better."

Quickly resuming his seat, Charlie said "Trying to get out of here. Exactly. Why? Because Don hates to be cooped up – he hates to be _controlled_." Alan was silent. "I think Don's getting sick because he's using energy to fight off the sedative. I think…" Charlie paused, looking down at his hands and lowering his voice. "I _hope_ I'm right, Dad. There's nothing scientific, or mathematical, or even logical about it." He glanced up at his father sheepishly. "Maybe I'm getting one of those 'gut feelings' Don's always going on about." He waited.

Alan leaned back in his seat and rubbed his chin thoughtfully with one finger. _Like Don,_ thought Charlie with a pang of sorrow. After a minute or so, Alan asked, "What do you want to do?"

He leaned forward eagerly. "Tell them to stop the sedative. Let him wake up."

Alan, too, leaned forward. "Ask yourself one thing first, Charlie." At his son's quick nod, he continued, "Is this something you want for Don? Or is it for you?" He put up his hand as Charlie opened his mouth to protest. "Hear me out. You're scared for Don. You don't like seeing him like this. I feel the same way." He looked at Charlie intently. "What if you're wrong?"

Charlie considered this. "Well… what if we ask first? Find out if it'll hurt him to do it? See if they can… I don't know… reverse it, or put him back under, or whatever… if it's no good?"

Standing, Alan agreed. "Though, if his doctor says 'no' Charlie," he added. "Then that's it – no arguing, alright?"

Nodding, Charlie followed his father out of the lounge in search of his brother's physician.


	17. Epilogue

A/N: After returning home and spending time in quiet contemplation, I reread the epilogue for this story – and the accompanying reviews – and I had to agree. It did not fit. I revised the chapter, lengthened it, and made a vow never again to write while on a train.

Epilogue:

"So how did you manage to convince him?" Don Eppes asked his father and brother.

Alan chuckled. "Your brother can be very stubborn."

Ducking his head, Charlie grinned sheepishly. "I wasn't really, you know. I just stated my opinion."

"Yeah, well your 'opinion' very nearly got you thrown out of Doctor Hildebrand's office," Alan countered. "You raised your 'opinion' more than once."

Don grinned. "I've noticed his stubborn streak occasionally myself from time to time." He shifted position on the bed and hissed. Seeing his father reach for him, he shook his head. "I'm okay," he said.

Charlie looked at him with concern. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, Charlie, I'm sure."

Alan leaned closer to Don and said conspiratorially, "Your brother is feeling the weight of a guilty conscience, I believe." At Don's puzzled expression, he explained, "Doctor Hildebrand said taking you off the sedatives might do you more harm than good." He looked at his youngest son. "And then of course there's the additional drawback of being awake enough to feel pain."

Charlie glanced at his brother before replying. "I was right, though. He _is_ doing better."

"Yes, I am." Don frowned. "But I don't understand – how did you figure that I would?"

Shrugging, Charlie replied, "I don't have any empirical data to back it up…"

"He had a gut feeling," Alan cut in. Don raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

Charlie dropped into a nearby chair and folded his arms in a gesture of disgust. "I _was_ right, though," he pouted.

Just at that moment, the door opened slowly. "Knock, knock," Megan's voice drifted through the gap. "There's a bunch of FBI agents out here."

"Hey, guys!" Don called, grinning. "Come on in!"

Megan entered the room, closely followed by Colby and David. Cheerful greetings were exchanged, along with enquiries to Don's health. The pleasantries were brought to an abrupt halt, however, when Don suddenly asked, "What happened to McKesson and Travers?"

David replied, "Travers is in jail, and McKesson is here."

"Here?" Don asked. He attempted to sit up, but his father's restraining hand on his shoulder kept him in place. "Why is he here?"

Colby answered, "That Cramer guy really belted him one, Don. I think they said his skull was cracked."

"Good," Charlie muttered. He looked up quickly, but no one reprimanded his callous attitude. He sat up a little straighter. "I hope he recovers, so he can get what's coming to him," he added.

Don said quietly, "Me too, buddy."

"IAD's after you, Don," Colby changed the subject abruptly. "What's that about?"

Shaking his head, Don replied, "Something about shooting at agents. I don't remember doing that, though."

"You did," David answered. At Don's surprised look, he hastily added, "You were shooting at McKesson's backup, remember?" Don nodded. "Well, some of our guys were right behind them."

"I would never…" Don began, but Megan cut him off. "You couldn't have seen them, Don. They were coming in right behind McKesson's goon squad."

Don's eyes opened wide in shock. "I didn't… Did I hit anyone?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "Are you sure?" he pressed. "That guy from IAD told me we lost four people. I know about Verona and… the one Travers shot." He closed his eyes briefly at the memory. "Who else was there?" he asked.

Alan regarded his son sadly. This was the part of the job he always wanted to shield Don from – the mental anguish. He watched as his eldest quickly shoved aside his emotions and opened his eyes, waiting for a response. It came from Colby. "We lost two outside when the shooting started. They kind of got the drop on us."

David shook his head. "It was a bad scene all around." He quickly recounted their side of the evening's events. "We nailed just about all of McKesson's people."

"Who _were_ they?" Charlie asked. "They weren't agents, were they?"

Colby replied, "Nah. Just a bunch of goofballs McKesson and Travers rounded up to do their dirty work." To Don, he added, "We got all of them – well, what was left of them."

Alan used the pause in the conversation to ask his own question. "So they bought the story about Don's reputation being questionable, and they bought that Don wanted to get out of his own department for a while," he paused. "So what made them suspect something was up?"

"Me." Don shifted his position again and grunted slightly. "I guess I'm not that great at playing a 'dirty cop'. McKesson didn't buy it a hundred percent, and then when David came to see me…" He shrugged, looking at his friend. "I guess I should've told you off, or something."

The handsome agent grinned. "I'm just as glad you didn't. They might've gotten the idea you didn't want me around anymore." The smile faded slightly as he took in Don's appearance. "You sure you're feeling alright?" he asked.

"I'm okay," came the strained reply. "Just… sore."

"We should get going," Megan announced. "Let Don get some rest." She leaned over and patted Don's hand. "You just relax and get better, okay?" Don nodded. The other two agents added their well wishes and the three of them departed.

In the ensuing silence, Don said, "You know, Charlie, I oughta kick your butt."

It was Charlie's turn to look shocked. "What for?" he asked.

"I can answer that," Alan replied. "For sticking your nose in when you were expressly told not to." He shook his finger at his youngest son. "You weren't supposed to get involved."

"How could I _not_ get involved?" Charlie protested. "You wanted me to just sit back and not do anything when Don needed help?" He slumped in his chair again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said firmly. "I just can't do that."

"Yeah, well," Don sighed. "I'm kind of glad you did. I was wishing I'd let the others in on what was going on. I hate to think what would've happened if they hadn't shown up." He regarded his brother with a penetrating glare. "But you put yourself in a lot of danger, you know. If they had found out you were in on it…" he trailed off menacingly.

"They didn't," Charlie quickly replied. "They didn't, and David, Colby and Megan were there with the other agents to help, and David called in the police, and…"

"Enough already!" Alan cut him off. "You were right, and we were wrong, okay?"

Charlie grinned. "And I was right about Don, too," he added smugly. "He's getting better, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." Doctor Hildebrand said from the doorway. He entered the room, picked up Don's chart and examined it. "It looks like you're healing well, Agent Eppes." Setting it back down, he smiled. "No surgery for you. I was afraid there might have been complications."

"Peripheral damage, then?" Charlie asked.

Doctor Hildebrand nodded. "I was afraid it might have been central." He looked at Don appraisingly. "It's a good thing you're in such good shape, Agent Eppes." He paused thoughtfully. "Usually the kidneys are fairly well shielded by muscle, but a blow like that would cause some pretty serious damage anyway. The vest you wore may have stopped the bullet, but your muscles provided a considerable amount of protection as well." Shaking his head, he added, "I don't know whether you're just lucky, or…"

"Very," Alan cut in.

Turning to Charlie, Hildebrand asked, "I don't suppose your doctorate is in medicine, is it?"

Shaking his head, Charlie answered. "Nope. Mathematics."

"That's too bad," the doctor replied. He addressed his next comment to Don. "Your brother seems to have a gift for diagnosis."

"No," Don smiled. "He just gets these gut feelings."


End file.
